


Fire and Water

by annsgopal94



Category: Amba, Bheeshma, Mahabharata - Vyasa, Satyavati, महाभारत | Mahabharat (TV 2013)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:41:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annsgopal94/pseuds/annsgopal94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.<br/>I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;<br/>so I love you because I know no other way</p>
<p>than this: where I does not exist, nor you,<br/>so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,<br/>so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. </p>
<p>- Sonnet 17, Pablo Neruda</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Water

Bheeshma looked straight ahead of him, an annoyed frown creasing his face. The chariot was rambling in a head long fashion on the road to Hastinapur, where Satyavati was waiting impatiently for the princesses of Kasi. 

Such is life, he thought to himself. Strangled, frustrated and wholly disappointing. A Kshatriya, kidnapping princesses for another man! He shook his head in disgust. Bheeshma seldom resorted to chicanery, however his step mother was quite relentless in her efforts to secure her natural son, Vichitraveerya’s, happiness. And if Satyavati was convinced that his happiness laid in the princesses of Kasi, then he would have the princesses of Kasi.

No matter what Veer thought, Bheeshma said to himself, shaking his head. Satyavati had made Bheeshma swear an oath (his trademark) that he would procure a wife from among the princesses of Kasi for Vichitraveerya. He had tried to do just that, but things went downhill. The kings of Bharatvarsh hadn’t taken too kindly to a middle aged, celibate impostor come to whisk away the three beauties, Amba, Ambika and Ambalika, for his half-brother. They had raised quite a ruckus, and Bheeshma, too disgusted for words had grabbed the youngest princess’s hand. Naturally the oldest ran behind Bheeshma and Ambalika attempting to save her youngest sister’s virtue from the unscrupulous warrior. The middle sister was not far behind. Fat lot of good it did them; they soon found themselves confoundedly atop a racing chariot, the world they had known reducing in the growing distance.

“Saarthi! Faster!” he commanded. Turning behind, he noticed the prince of Saubala hot on their heels. The young crown prince was visibly furious and even amidst the flying dust, one could register his purple face mottled with rage attached to a pale, lanky body.

Bheeshma raised his eyebrow in bored amusement. Very few men dared to cross him; why was this funny looking Salva doing so?

Then he noticed Amba for the first time.

Amba, the oldest princess of Kasi, was looking into Devrata Bheeshma’s eyes with a molten intensity. She narrowed her eyes, as if trying to discern him. Bheeshma looked down in alarm. This wisp of a woman with her strange eyes was making His Excellency uncomfortable to the bone. She seemed calm and not at all flustered unlike her sisters who were clutching the sides of the chariot with terror.

“Bheesma!” Salva screamed. “I will skin you alive! You will see the dark face of Yama today! Death will claw at your body!”

Smiling at the lad’s poetic words, Bheeshma picked up his bow and aimed at Salva’s chariot wheels. Launching four arrows at each of the wheels, he turned around satisfied. Salva’s chariot collapsed unceremoniously.

Ambika screamed. Ambalika flung her arms over her face theatrically. Amba gasped. Bheeshma remained unperturbed.

“Icchamrityu,” he said smugly.

 

Amba’s first glimpse of Hastinapur came from atop a hillock. In a pleasant valley lay the city of elephants, golden domes shining in the afternoon sunlight. The vista before her breathed hope and her heart was ecstatic. She had previously reconciled herself to mild, sober love for the future King of Saubala whom she had intended to garland at her swayamvar.

But His Excellency of Hastinapur had changed all of that. At his entry she was mildly shocked, for he was so famous for his oath of celibacy that she had heard the maids tittering about the apparent loss to womankind when she was sixteen.

Now older and considerably reactive to men, she had felt an odd sensation in her stomach when he had entered the Swayamvar Hall. Taller than most other Kshatriyas, Bheeshma had seemed to dwarf all the other kings and princes. She had been instantly riveted, and even among the pages of reluctant, sober reconciliation a wicked hope wrote itself. She had caressed the water lilies on the garland, smiling a slow, small smile. A while ago, she had learnt of the illustrious Devrata Bheeshma, his oath, his sacrifice, and all the world had to know of him; but his decision had always puzzled her. Why he would sacrifice his future for another? Even if that one was his father?

When he had pulled Ambalika, Amba had run after the two to protect her sister. When he had pulled her into the chariot, Amba had gotten in with meekness.

When Salva, who knew of her intentions, was much given to poetry, and had already confessed his love to her, trailed their hell raising chariot, she felt her heart run towards distant Hastinapur, to Gangaputra Bheeshma’s chambers.

Bheeshma. He of the terrible oath.

What a stout, unyielding name that was! Positively foul!

Devrata she mouthed. He who is spiritual. A fine name.

A fond smile crept up her delicate features. It was the perfect description for the man standing before her, she felt, seeing as how he was given to sacrificing all that he was for those around him.

I won’t allow that anymore, she said to herself. Not when I am his wife. What is this business with Vichitraveerya?

Her wilful heart had attached itself to Devrata and she could not- would not- settle anymore.

She had already built a castle in her heart that said Devrata and Amba on the nameplate. Little did she know that the high walls of Hastinapur overshadowed all structures- mud huts and castles alike.

 

Drama had ensued once the princesses, now future Queens of Hastinapur, had reached the palace.

Amba had refused to garland Vichitraveerya, saying that she had already chosen her suitor, which was not untrue.

When the shocked assembly turned its astonished eyes toward the Queen Mother, Satyavati haughtily asked her who it was.

Steeling her wrought nerves, Amba had said in a quiet calm voice that His Excellency Gangaputra Bheeshma had sliced her life to pieces when he abruptly abducted her.

Turning shifty eyes towards Devrata she had noticed the guilt build itself in his dark eyes. Confident he would break his oath to atone for her mistake, she had waited for him to speak with bated breath.

“If I have wronged you, Devi, allow me to redeem myself. Please reclaim your freedom and marry the individual you want.”

Amba had kept her features composed as a sunburst of joy exploded in her. She had silently watched Devrata apologize to his younger brother, and the latter forgive him instantly with a smile.

She had won.

Then Devrata, the man she had gambled for, turned towards her and said, “A chariot is waiting to take you wherever you wish to go Devi Amba. Please forgive my impertinence and live a peaceful life in Saubala.”

Her eyes widened, the smooth control she had over herself vanishing.

“Does his Excellency think the Crown Prince of Saubala will accept me now after I have been abducted in this fashion?” Amba, of the strange eyes asked.

“There is no reason for him not to if he feels as strongly for you as you do for him,” Bheeshma said with an odd smile. Now he understood why Salva had fought for this woman. She was simply worth fighting for. “From what I saw last morning, I daresay he does.”

Amba had felt her throat harden painfully with supressed crying.

You drive a hard bargain Devrata. But you have never seen a woman like me, my love.

She hadn’t won, nor had she lost. She was still competing with her fate.

Salva had refused to marry her, just as she had thought he would. Thank you for proving me right, she had said to the confused prince, who had honestly thought that she would beg for his mercy.

Amba, instead, had left with a triumphant flick of her head.

In Hastinapur, Bheeshma had shuttered his eyes. His uneasy heart could not be consoled; he had singlehandedly crushed Amba’s life with his misjudged display of power. He had not even deigned to ask her consent.

Suddenly he opened his eyes, staring unfocusedly into the darkness of his chamber.

Why had she not protested when he had raised his bow against Salva? He clearly remembered her only reaction: a gasp. She had not even mentioned that she was attached to Salva.

Wrinkling his eyebrow he wondered whether she had purposely done that to embarrass Hastinapur in vengeance for the commotion he had caused at Kasi. It was possible, women were conniving. Presently, he heard the doorkeeper announce the Princess of Kasi.

Amba, entered with as much grace she possessed the last time he had seen her.

She looked quite exhausted. The pearls that had adorned her hair had now slipped down to her forehead, her once crisp angavastra now hung limply down her shoulder. Her face was wan, but her strange eyes still shone as brilliantly as the Dhruva Tara.

“Why have you come here Devi?” he asked alarmed.

“I apologize for intruding your privacy,” she began in a low voice, “But I felt it best to inform you as soon as possible that the Crown Prince of Salva has refused to marry me on account of my contamination.”

He blinked.

“Contamination?”

She nodded once. “He was, of course, referring to my abrupt abduction by His Excellency.”

“Devi, I apologize again. But allow me to ask why you didn’t stop me earlier. Why did you not, Devi Amba, say that you were attached to Salva? I would have never brought you to Hastinapur! Or was all of this deliberate?” he asked in a tone reserved for his errant army generals. His dark eyes had hardened and the line of his jaw was set.

But all of his sternness had no effect on Amba who had seen Devrata hiding behind Bheeshma.

She smiled euphorically.

“Are you accusing me of deviousness, my Lord?”

“I am merely asking you a question.”

“An unimportant one, I assure you,” she replied serenely. “What is important, is the solution to the problem you have raised. And after much deliberation I have reached a conclusion: I must be married.”

“Of course. I will speak to Vichitraveerya immediately,” Devrata said, his eyes downcast and his tone instantly contrite.

“Gangaputra Devrata Bheeshma, this situation- where I have been cast aside, where I have been rejected despite being eligible in every way – this situation has arisen because of you!” she said her eyes flashing. “Only water can be drunk when one is thirsty; thirst cannot be quenched by oil, so also My Lord, another cannot do what you are supposed to do.”

Devrata smiled sadly. He understood what Amba wanted and- he loathed to admit it- his treacherous heart wanted the same.

“I cannot marry,” he said with finality, turning away.

Amba’s soaring heart dipped dramatically. She had been on a winning streak with him despite his aspersions. Now all her careful plans seemed futile, all her excitement seemed poisonous and nothing was the same.

Just like in the assembly hall, her composed façade crumbled. A sob escaped her, prompting Devrata to turn toward her.

He registered the downturned corners of her trembling lips, her jagged sobbing, and her heartbroken eyes shining with unshed tears.

Devrata’s hand involuntarily rose to her cheeks, his thumb brushing away a tear.

Raising her eyes to his, she asked, “What should I do? How will I atone for a wrong I have not done?”

“You don’t have to. You can marry Vichitraveerya, and be happy,” he said drawing his hand away from her face.

Catching it with nimble fingers, she straightened her back.

“I want to be happy, Devrata,” she said softly. He furrowed his brows at the sound of his original name. No one had called him Devrata since his mother. His father had called him Bheeshma, to remind the world of his son’s biggest achievement- his sacrifice. Satyavati had always called him Yuvraj, even after it was clear that he wasn’t and could never be the Yuvraj. To the rest of the world he was His Excellency Gangaputra Bheeshma.

His confused eyes stung with sudden tears.

“Don’t you want to be happy?” she asked interlacing her fingers with his.

“Be straight with me Amba,” he said, scared to trust her.

She peered into his dark eyes- a curious combination of grey and black, she noticed- that were molten in the intensity of the moment.

She nodded once.

“You distracted me at first, in the Swayamvara hall, though I had decided to marry the Crown Prince of Saubala with poor passion. I didn’t think much of it, but when you pulled me into your chariot, and I realized that I had the option of returning, I didn’t wish to take it. I trusted my intuition: somehow, somewhere along the way, someone had decided that you were everything to me. And how does one walk away from a feeling like that Dev?”

Devrata’s breath caught. His intuition hadn’t been incorrect either: Amba of the strange eyes was going to be trouble. He hadn’t experienced such strong, unbridled love from anyone. His loneliness ate way at his insides like a malignant cancer, but there was no one he could express it to, no one who had spared that much of time for him.

And now, here stood a woman of quiet fire, and deep strength. Her spirit seemed to be made of crashing waves of passion and he could not believe that he had made a place in her flaming heart.

“I am not a prized possession Dev. I will not be treated like a lure, enticing the greedy heart, and I refuse to be reduced to a material thing. I am a woman and I will take decisions for myself. I decided to love you, but I can only hope for redamancy. “

And with that Bheeshma, the one of the terrible oath, and of even more grit and hardness, crumbled.

Reaching rashly for her waist, he enclosed the fiery Amba in his arms and buried his head in her hair, unwilling to show her the stir of emotions she had caused in him.

Amba, smiled through tears that now freely flowed down her face and hugged her Devrata back in her natural fierce fashion.

He was her reason of being and she was his cure.

But life is traitorous, and happiness is a butterfly that souls keep chasing but can never catch.

“Go back to Kasi Amba,” Devrata said in a strangled voice.

Amba froze in his strong arms.

“I cannot break my oath, my love. And neither can I destroy you. You refuse to marry Veer, and I daresay I cannot see you marry him either. I know that after what I have done, no one will marry you, and you will be forced to live a life of celibacy. Ah, Amba my misery is contagious!” he lamented against her head.

How he wanted to give in to her! How strongly he wanted to break his oath! But he could see no righteousness in breaking his oath. Satyavati’s happiness, Vichitraveerya’s future and now Ambika and Ambalika’s future too, rested on his oath. His father had died secure in the knowledge that his widow and children would be taken care of. He could not untangle himself from the bonds he had created for himself.

Raising his head from his resting place, he looked into her eyes.

“I have seldom asked others to sacrifice something for me. But you don’t count as “others” anymore Amba: you are as familiar to me as my own breath. So today I ask you to leave. Forget me Amba, I am just a cause of sadness. In time, you will be married, be queen of some land, have plenty of children and I will be a distant memory.”

She smiled wryly, “Who are you planning to bribe to marry me?”

Laughing through his tears he rested his head on her forehead, wishing life to still.

Amba had different plans for him. She would not allow him to sink into unhappiness, not her precious Devrata!

Her father had refused to accept her, in light of the shame she had caused him.

“You are a kritya!” his letter had said.

Even her sisters, girls she had literally mothered, seemed to shy away from her. She was now a woman without identity.

“Stop that!” she told herself. “You are Amba! You don’t need any acceptance from anyone!”

Devrata had held her against him, stroking her hair, when she had mourned the loss of her family. She could not even comply with his request any more. Therefore, Devrata (much to Satyavati’s dissatisfaction) had had a separate palace built for her on the banks of the Ganges.

He felt that she was safest with his mother.

He rode up to her palace as often as he could, sometimes in secret, to spend time with her. For long hours they would sit and talk, laugh, and share their pain. They could be at peace with themselves when they were with each other.

The ever evasive butterfly fluttered around them for a few years, until Satyavati found out.

She was walking with her stepson on the banks of the Ganges one morning, when she asked him, “Have you broken your oath Yuvraj?”

Shocked, Devrata looked at her in alarm.

“No!” he said vehemently.

Satyavati looked at him with fond sadness. They were too close in age to be mother and son, but they were friends despite their differences. Her father had taken away everything from Yuvraj and left him bereft, but Yuvraj had willingly given up his comfort for her. She did not want to take blame for his unhappiness anymore.

“Go to her Yuvraj. Don’t shackle yourself in a lifetime of agony! If this is what you really want, I do not want to hold it back from you,” she said sincerely.

He smiled at her.

“How can I sacrifice my family for my happiness? How can I sacrifice Amba’s reputation for my happiness? Will people not say that she was the reason of everyone’s unhappiness? For Hastinapur disaster? But more importantly how can I forsake righteousness for anything?!”

“It is righteous to find happiness, Yuvraj.”

He closed his eyes. No one would understand the way guilt tore his spirit apart, the way he could not meet his eyes in the mirror anymore.

Adharma! Adharma! His insides screamed.

Walking ahead of her he said, “Not at the cost of everything else.”

That night, he rode up to Amba’s palace, but found it empty. In rising panic, he rode out to search for her, sending search parties all over the land.

He found her at her grandfather Hotravan’s ashram

Amba had heard of Satyavati and Devrata’s discussion.

Was she a burden? Did Devrata feel her weight on his back along with the combined weight of his responsibility to his family and the throne?

She would not be a burden. Wiping her tears away she had fled to her grandfather’s ashram where she was always welcome.

Clutching her grandfather she cried like a child. A whirlpool of emotions had erupted out of her and her heart brokenness spilled like water onto the mud floor.

Hotravan could not bear to see his grandchild in such deep pain.

“There is only one man whom Bheeshma will listen to, my child. His teacher, Parshuram,” he said with finality. “He is my personal friend and will sympathize with your cause.”

“Devrata will listen to no one, Grandfather,” Amba said broodingly.

“There is no harm in trying,” her grandfather said gently.

Amba, unfortunately, was correct. Parshuram had tried to reason with Bheeshma but he was adamant. Finally Parshuram had decided to fight Bheeshma for Amba’s honour.

They were both fighting a losing battle. Bheeshma could not be defeated because of his father’s boon, and he could not wield the deadly Pashupatastra (the only weapon that would grant him success) against his revered Guru.

The battle soon stopped.

“Using even the very best of weapons I have not been able to obtain any advantage over Bheeshma, that foremost of all wielders of weapons! I have exerted now to the best of my power and might. Seek the protection of Bheeshma himself, thou hast no other refuge now,” Parshuram told Amba.

Unbeknownst to the world, a fire had lit itself in Amba’s heart. She could no longer endure, her fiery nature would not allow it! Bheeshma was the cause of her down fall, but Devrata built her up. She was caught between two personalities of the same person, without escape. Her spirit was straining against the bonds that enslaved both Devrata and her. Above all else, she knew that Devrata’s heart was conflicted. He could not live without her, but every minute he spent with her, reminded him of how close he had come to being unrighteous.

She could not lead such a confused existence anymore. With that, Amba piled logs of wood on top of each other and lit her pyre on fire.

“Are you running away again my love?” a voice asked.

Turning around she saw Devrata, anguished.

“Don’t call me that Dev! Don’t lie so baldly! If I was your love, you would have fought for me, the way I fought for you!” she said scathingly.

Grasping her arm roughly, he bore holes through her with his angry eyes.

“You knew what you were getting into Amba!” he said harshly. “You knew that it would end in misery! I told you it would! We cannot fight all our lives Amba!”

“Are you hinting that I should walk into that pyre and end it all Dev?” she asked quietly, her strange eyes alight.

With unusual ferociousness, Devrata grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook her violently.

“I don’t know what to do Amba!” he screamed. “What can be done in such a hopeless situation?! I am trapped! And I have trapped you too!”

Sinking down to his knees he broke down, defeated, as Amba stepped back into the pyre quietly.

Life is a chaotic business and humans with hearts of flames and wings of paper complicate it even more. They do not realize when the flames eat away at the paper. They cannot redeem themselves. They cannot find happiness. The butterfly is damned!


End file.
